Well, after talking about the event ad nauseum for 364 days prior, the kid finally had her birthday party on Saturday. The party was held at the Little Gym. We had a total of eight kids, which turned out to be a good number. They played games in the gym, climbed on the equipment, and beat each other about the head and neck with styrofoam tubes. Then they retired to the party room where they ate cake and then cheered on the birthday girl while she opened her gifts. My friend Jennifer (well, A says that Jennifer is HER BEST FRIEND) brought the kid some Bendaroos. This was her favorite gift - she even prefers the Bendaroos over the bicycle P and I bought for her (and the bike has streamers! and a ringy-dingy bell!). At the end of the party one of the Little Gym employees told the kids that the birthday girl was going to give each of her friends a gift. She was referring to the goodie bags I had filled the night before, but A misunderstood and thought she had to give her gifts back to the kids. "Okay, I'll give them my presents," she said with a slight frown, "But I'm keeping the Bendaroos."
I ordered a Strawberry Shortcake birthday cake, in keeping with the theme my daughter selected. I was charged an additional $5.00 for the "edible image" of Strawberry Shortcake. The term "edible" is used rather loosely here. Just a word to the wise - the edible cake image isn't the culinary miracle that the bakeries would have you believe. It's weird and chewy. We have a hunk of cake left at home and no one really wants it because of that top layer of yuck. I'm sure the kids didn't notice, but I think the adults did. Or at least the ones with taste buds.
On Monday, the kid had her annual visit to the pediatrician. I was curious to see where she would fall on the height/weight charts now, because I've noticed that when I see her with a group of kids her age, she is generally the most petite. She weighs 34 pounds and is 37 1/4" tall. 25th percentile for weight and 10th percentile for height. I think that officially makes her . . . short. From birth she generally tracked at the 50th percentile for height and weight, but she's definitely slipped. Slacker!
Of course, as a mom, it leaves me wondering if I've done anything wrong. We are vegetarian so I am always fretting over whether or not I am getting enough protein into her. It's challenging to get kids to eat a balanced diet, no matter what sort of food pyramid you may follow. Ultimately, though, I think she's just naturally petite. Her birthparents are of average height and weight so my guess is that A will end up comfortably average as well by the time she reaches adulthood. I'm not overly concerned about it at this point. When the kid tells me, "I'm a big girl!" I think to myself, "Well, actually . . . "
When we checked in at the pediatrician's office, the receptionist handed me a form I had not been given on prior visits. It was a family health history form that I was supposed to fill out. I filled out A's name and general information, and left the rest blank. I was not prepared for this little stumbling block. Her birthmom did fill out a family health history for us four year ago. It covers her side of the family. I reviewed it at that time and then filed it away. I have no information on A's birthfather and his medical history. I have to confess that it has never bothered me too much (the lack of a medical history, I mean), because that way my daughter doesn't grow up waiting to contract whatever may have killed some biological relative decades ago. However, I realize it may be important to her when she gets older, which is why I saved the one we do have. I will always do my best to tell her anything she wants to know.
The only other noteworthy aspect of our visit to the pediatrician's office was the list of questions I brought along. I asked Dr. Alexander the dumbest question of his career, I have no doubt. I'm sure he went home and told his wife, "Yeah, somebody finally topped it." Wondering what I asked him? Okay, here goes: "What color are my daughter's eyes?" Historically, they have been blue. Sort of a slate blue. That's why the song lyric "dancing down the street with her suede blue eyes" always makes me think of my daughter. But over time, they've changed a bit and now I honestly don't know. Sometimes they are gray. Other times they are green. Sometimes she mixes in some gold just to throw me off. I have no idea what she is going to put on her driver's license, but I guess she's got 12 years to figure it out. Are you also wondering what the the pediatrician said? He actually punted. He said, "They're very pretty."